


Morning Tea

by freethedoncastertwo



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M, Morning Drabble
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-17
Updated: 2013-07-17
Packaged: 2017-12-20 10:41:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/886310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freethedoncastertwo/pseuds/freethedoncastertwo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Louis thinks that Harry must have bits of his old bakery mixed up inside of him, because he tastes like icing sugar deep down in his pores.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Morning Tea

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! I posted this little drabbly thing several months ago on my tumblr, at seeingviolet.tumblr.com. I made some minor edits and decided to post the edited version here.

Tea is warm like Louis’ skin and his butter-soft gaze. Harry likes the way it heats his nose when he breathes it in; likes how the mug is a balm on his fingers when he carries it to his lover before breakfast.

Louis doesn’t wake unless you touch him – poke him and tickle him, caress and hold him until he feels wanted enough to be coaxed into life. He stirs slowly at first, snuffling against the pillow in delight when Harry starts to sing. And then his eyes blink open to reveal their bright, sunny blue; two small pieces of sky that broke away for Louis to keep safe through the night until their way home shone bright in the morning. Louis finds his home in Harry: in the sweet tea and soft curls that envelop his senses upon waking; in the gentle eyes and safe voice and the sincere person that is Harry, Harry, Harry.

Louis’ grin is pure daylight as he takes his mug from Harry’s hands and squeezes him tightly in thanks. He pulls Harry under the covers for a cuddle, and Harry laughs as Louis nearly spills his tea all over them. He doesn’t though, and his smile is just a little bit smug as he pats Harry’s lap and pulls him ever closer. It’s lightly sprinkling outside. Louis’ hands are on Harry’s waist while his lips brush his neck; his sensitive skin. Harry thinks they could be one person on mornings like this – but then, he wonders if one person could ever feel this happy, this wondrously full. Perhaps he’s a hopeless romantic, but Harry thinks that he was made for cuddles with Louis and tea-steam on his nose. Not  _made_  in a sense that he’s designed this way: more that he has grown, and is growing, towards this. That this is his highest biology, and his very cells dictate that he will always grow towards Louis. Louis leans over and plucks some herbs from the potted plants on his windowsill, sprinkling them into his tea. He shoves a few down Harry’s shirt, and Harry’s laugh is minty-bright.

Later, Louis has switched on the small television and they’re watching sitcoms with the volume down low. Harry lies with his head against Louis’ chest and Louis tenderly cards his fingers through Harry’s hair. Harry doesn’t know whether he is awake or asleep. He vaguely thinks that it doesn’t matter – that those two states of existence fade in definition and importance beside the knowledge that he is with Louis. That is the only state that really matters, Harry finds. Harry murmurs this into Louis’ collarbone, and he can feel Louis smile through the atmosphere. It thrums in him and he smiles in return. Louis dips his head in for a kiss, bumping against Harry until the sleepy boy catches his lips with his own. The kiss is soft and toasty and tastes like morning tea, sprinkled with nutmeg and wrapped in winter scarves. Louis thinks that Harry must have bits of his old bakery mixed up inside of him, because he tastes like icing sugar deep down in his pores. Harry thinks that Louis is a light that never lapses; that inestimable nights could pass and still he’d never tire of kissing the boy with golden skin.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
